


Hurricane

by LinguistLove_24



Category: Nashville (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, One Shot, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinguistLove_24/pseuds/LinguistLove_24
Summary: While on the road as still-rising stars, Rayna and Deacon struggle with his alcoholism and its consequences.AU/non canon-ish. Set in slightly earlier, pre Maddie/Daphne days.One shot.





	

**Hurricane**

 

“You smell nice, baby.” Rayna Jaymes stood in front of the kitchenette sink in the middle of the tour bus she shared with her boyfriend as its wheels rolled methodically along underfoot. His words were hot against her ear, came out slurred as he stood behind her, arms knotted around her midriff. An action of physical touch she normally would have welcomed caused her skin to crawl and stomach to lurch, and she stood frozen in his embrace.

 

 

“Oh, I'll bet I do,” she shot back at him, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You use that line on every pretty little thing who crosses your line of vision, or am I some kind of special?”

 

 

“Ray...” Deacon's voice trailed off. “I said I was sorry about what happened that night.”

 

 

“Wouldn't be the first time,” Rayna muttered under her breath, extricating herself from his arms and stepping as many feet away from him as the cramped quarters would allow. “Maybe you should start actin' like you mean it.”

 

 

Finishing up the southernmost leg of the tour had taken longer than expected. Ticket sales were in higher demand than they or anybody on their team could have anticipated, so they'd added a few extra shows before packing it in to head back home. One evening weeks previously, after they'd played their additional show in the state of Kentucky, they'd packed up all equipment and decided to stop off at a local dive close by for some much needed nourishment.

 

**///**

 

 

_Once inside, Rayna quickly made a beeline for the facilities, hoping not to be recognised by anyone. Though she and Deacon had made a decent living for themselves thus far, both having a fiercely loyal and consistent fan base, they were by no means situated on the highest rung of the ladder just yet._

 

 

_As she made her way over to the sinks lined along one wall of the ladies', a short, stout woman with a heart shaped face and soft eyes nearly collided with her while making her way out of a stall. Flustered, she apologised profusely, gawking wide eyed when she finally registered to whom the fiery red hair actually belonged ._

 

 

_“Rayna Jaymes,” she breathed in disbelief. “Is that really you?”_

 

 

_“One and only,” the singer offered in response. “What's your name, darlin'?”_

 

 

_Often, nights fell and saw them in an entirely different state from the one which had been rolling by outside the window when they'd woken. Regardless of where they were, how grand or ordinary the towns and venues they stopped at proved themselves to be, Rayna made her best efforts to be sure no fan she encountered along the way felt anything less than valued._

 

 

_“Ellis,” the woman told her, shock still evident on her face. “Ellis Dixon.”_

 

 

_“Well Ellis, it's nice to meet you,” Rayna told her warmly, offering a sideways hug before pulling away and turning her attention back to the sinks closest to her. “I'd better finish up here. Boyfriend's out there waitin' for me and we can't be lettin' him get into too much trouble.”_

 

 

_Ellis' eyes sparkled as she laughed. “We best not,” she said. “Sorry for holding you up.”_

 

 

_“Not at all, you have a good night now.”_

 

 

_Once she was out of sight, the redhead ran slender, freckled fingers through her hair in effort to tame it. Tap was turned and warm water splashed over her equally freckled face to absolve it of the sheen of sweat caused by the heat of the stage lights. Lipstick and blush were fetched from the confines of the tiny bag that held much more than it should have been able to, and when reapplied, masking imperfections adequately enough, she went in search of Deacon._

 

 

_Even though the amount of time she'd spent interacting with Ellis Dixon had been minimal and her quip about not letting her boyfriend out of her sight too long had been meant as a joke, it had come to Rayna's attention that she had allowed herself to do just that upon stepping back into the main area of the establishment. As green eyes scanned the crowds, a freckled, fair skinned hand made its way up close to her face and fanned away a downwind of cigarette smoke she had no desire to inhale. Eventually, she took in Deacon situated much too close to and engaged what looked to be much more flirtatiously than was appropriate or necessary, with a young, unknown woman. Judging by the empty tumbler of amber liquid next to him on the table, he'd also tied too heavily into alcohol._

 

 

_“What the fuck, Deacon?!” The hushed discussion that had been ensuing between them came to an abrupt halt, the young woman looking like a deer in headlights when she took in Rayna's flaring nostrils, icy stare and continually reddening cheeks. Deciding it was best not to get herself caught in the middle of a situation she had no knowledge of, she excused herself and Rayna was permitted to be in closer proximity to her boyfriend once she left._

 

 

_“Ah, c'mon baby. Little lady and I were just havin' a conversation about the music, that's all.”_

 

 

_“The music,” she stated dryly, brow cocked, arms folded, completely unconvinced. “Is that how her lipstick found its way onto the side of your mouth?”_

 

 

_“Well, no,” he slurred._

 

 

_“You know what? Save it, Deacon. I don't wanna hear your excuses or put up with your drunk ass. I'm goin' back out to the bus. Feel free to follow me when you feel like bein' an adult.”_

 

 

**///**

 

“I do mean it,” Deacon whispered softly hours later as he emerged from the bedroom at the back of the bus. Rayna had taken it upon herself to amass all empty and broken liquor bottles scattered throughout the space and as he stepped tentatively closer, he saw through the locks of auburn hair dangling down shielding her face that she'd been crying. Mascara streaked light skinned cheeks, black lines showing themselves in all the places his lips nearly always longed to touch after a fight. Standing before her, he felt like a fool and a failure for having let the love of his whole life down all over again.

 

 

“What?” she choked out, sniffling, unable to talk herself into meeting his eyes.

 

 

“I mean it,” he repeated. “That I'm sorry for that night.”

 

 

“I wish it were easier to believe you.”

 

 

Always and forever, he'd hate to see her cry, especially on his account.

 

 

“Baby, please believe me. I am sorry, I never want to hurt you.”

 

 

“But you do, Deacon. You always do. Just when things are really good, you fuck it all up again and make me feel like I'm in the middle of a hurricane.”

 

 

Stepping closer still, he pulled her rail thin body against him, turned her in in his arms to face him despite that she stiffened at his touch. “Then talk to me, Rayna. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me how to fix it.”

 

 

Green eyes were glossed over with tears not shed as she locked on the middle of his face and stood unsure of whether to react with sadness or anger. Both emotions had knotted themselves together and were coursing through her body, creating an inexplicable feeling.

 

 

“ _This_ darlin,” she said, voice raising an octave as she held tighter to the neck of one of the empty beer bottles she was still clutching, raised it into his line of vision. “This is what's wrong. You drink too damn much and don't remember which way is up. It makes you someone I don't like, and you do things the Deacon I know wouldn't do. You love alcohol more than everything and everybody.”

 

 

“No, Rayna,” he choked out, struggling to string coherent thoughts together and will them from his mouth. “I don't love anybody more than you.”

 

 

That night at the dive in Kentucky was by no means the first to cause argument over his affinity for liquid courage and exactly whom he became when he allowed himself to indulge, but standing before his girlfriend weeks later in the middle of the bus, looking around at all the empty bottles and the pieces of broken ones he'd been foolish enough to throw in all his misguided anger, he realised this was the first time she'd so bluntly laid before him just how that affinity made her feel. Light was beginning to illuminate his mistakes, and it was unforgiving. He was destroying his love, destroying himself.

 

 

“Then show me that,” she demanded with quiet sternness as she looked directly into his eyes. “Prove it. Don't just say you're sorry, act like it. Get help, put the excuses away. I've forgiven you for a lot of things, but I'm running out of reasons to stay. Eventually it won't just be me you lose, it'll be your career, everything.”

 

 

“You _are_ everything, Ray.”

 

 

“Show me,” she said again, stepping away from him and moving in the direction of their bedroom. “You can start by cleanin' up the rest of those bottles, then workin' not to bring anymore through here.”

 

 

Deacon watched her walk away and moved about the space in search of a broom and dust pan to begin cleaning the remaining shards of glass from the floor. After he swept them, he examined the pile and just how large it was. It was becoming evident to him that he had more problems than he could deal with on his own. Attempts to deny it saw him more miserable, slipping far and away from where it was he really wanted to be: next to Rayna Jaymes, step for step, for the rest of his life.

 

 

He had pulled her into the middle of a hurricane, and he'd regret that forever. It was time to show her that when put into action in all the right ways, determination, strength, will, loyalty and love were all enough to pull them both out.

 


End file.
